


Save Me (46 Hours)

by LilLayneeLoo



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Superman: The Animated Series
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Clark Kent, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I tried to make the time stamps make sense, Idiots in Love, Is it really my fic if there isn't any angst, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Multiverse, Oh My God, Protective Bruce Wayne, Sorry Not Sorry, lmao whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilLayneeLoo/pseuds/LilLayneeLoo
Summary: Clark is kidnapped by an unknown enemy. It takes Bruce forty-six hours to save him.(Or, maybe Bruce has been saving Clark since the very beginning, and he just didn't know it.)
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 12
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! You there!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic. Thank you for reading, you wonderful person you!
> 
> On with it!
> 
> -Laynee

**ONE: 2:15 PM**

Bruce glanced down at his phone, already considering deleting the text. It was pointless anyway, the deed had been done.

But there was still nothing. 

No response from Clark was odd. His super hearing usually meant he picked up the quiet buzzing of his cell phone, even if it was miles away from him. He almost always texted back within a few minutes, and it had been a few hours now.

Bruce shrugged.

_He must be busy._

**TWO: 3:40 PM**

_“Hi! It’s Clark. Please leave a message!”_

The tone rang in Bruce’s ear for the second time that day. He shook his head.

Still no response, which most likely meant that Clark was in an interview or something. He looked out the window of his office, Metropolis sprawling elegantly out beneath him.

_Unless he just doesn’t know what to say._

Bruce reread the original text he had sent, then tucked his phone back in his pocket.

_I’ll try again in a bit, just before the conference._

**THREE: 4:52 PM**

_“Hi! It’s Clark. Please leave a message!”_

Bruce sighed as the tone rang in his ears once more. He looked at his watch, minutes away from his 5:00 meeting.

“Clark. It’s Bruce. Aren’t you done work yet? Call me as soon as you get this, no matter what your answer is. I just... want to know you’re okay.” Bruce said, hanging up the phone. He stared at it for a second, frowning and gripping it tightly.

He pressed a hand to his forehead and massaged it in concern, pushing up from his desk and walking toward the lobby of the W.E. Financial Building. He tried to push Clark out of his mind, and run over his mental agenda for the conference. Mostly unsuccessful, he found himself in front of a glass door, looking in on Lucius Fox and an array of various board members, all of whom were waiting on his arrival. One last glance at his phone told him Clark still hadn’t contacted him.

He sighed again. 

_Something feels...off. But I’m probably overthinking it._

**FOUR: 5:45 PM**

Bruce reached for his pocket, intent on simply checking his phone quickly and returning it to its place, but the glare that Lucius directed at him was severe, and unnerving. 

Even for Batman.

He glanced at the clock.

_Another forty-five minutes. He’s probably texted back by now anyway._

**FIVE: 6:41 PM**

Bruce’s foot and finger were both tapping impatiently, and Lucius was keeping a constant eye on him now that the meeting was coming to a close. Ten minutes later than was scheduled.

When Lucius dismissed them, everyone around him rose to leave. Bruce shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone.

He had three texts. One from Tim and two from Dick. 

His heart sank.

_Where the hell are you, Clark?_

**SIX: 7:28 PM**

_“Hi! It’s Clark. Please leave a message!”_

Bruce sighed audibly again, tapping his ear-piece to hang up the call before the tone had the chance to ring. 

He contemplated turning around and heading back to Metropolis, but decided against it. 

_What if he had overstepped? Maybe Clark just wanted his space._

He glanced in the rear-view mirror, the city lights shining watchfully over the pavement behind him, and reflected on the water of the harbour as if the highway had plunged into a sea of stars. 

He shook his head. It was after dinner enough already, and he still had almost an hour of driving.

_Clark will call._

**SEVEN: 8:17 PM**

He was greeted by Alfred, as per usual, at the top of the stairs exiting the garage. 

“Good evening, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, reaching for Bruce’s jacket and briefcase. Also as per usual, Bruce shook his head with a small smirk, side-stepping Alfred to hang up his own coat, and carrying his bag down the hall and into his office.

To his confusion, Tim was sitting at his desk.

“Bruce,” he said, nodding his head toward him. “You’re late tonight. Alfred and I had dinner without you.”

Bruce set his case down in front of Tim, gesturing for his adopted son to get out of his chair.

“Board meeting at five,” he mumbled, sighing and sitting down. He unclasped the case and pulled out several folders of paperwork he had hoped to finish before patrol. “Are you finished with your homework?”

“Being finished with it implies I had any intention of doing it in the first place,” Tim rolled his eyes, flopping down in the slightly less comfortable chair across from the desk. “You should know this, Bruce.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows, smirking and shaking his head.

“Oh, should I now? Sometimes I forget that you seem to think you’re above the school system, although with your grades the way they are, how could I?”

“It’s after eight,” Tim said, ignoring Bruce entirely. “Aren’t we going on patrol?”

Bruce went back to his paperwork. “I’m going on patrol, yes, but later. You’re going to do your homework, and then go to bed.”

Bruce checked his phone again, Tim and the room around him fading slightly as he realized Clark _still_ hadn’t responded. 

A simple text: _Clark?_ and still nothing in return. Alfred stepped into the office to retrieve Tim before there was a chance for argument. Bruce could vaguely hear his butler lecturing his son on the importance of education as he tried to focus on the documents in front of him.

Thirty minutes of drifting in and out of concentration was enough for Bruce to realize that his efforts were useless. He sighed, checked his phone one more time, then made his way to the study.

Alfred was reading in an armchair by the window. They barely acknowledged each other as Bruce opened the passageway. A quick nod and a “Good luck, sir” followed him down to the cave.

_I need a distraction_.

**EIGHT: 9:46 PM**

The wind was brutal atop Wayne Tower, whipping past Batman’s exposed cheeks as he sat in darkness, contemplating his next move.

It wasn’t that Gotham really needed its vigilante on this particular night, but more accurately, Bruce needed the city. Its skyscrapers provided a sort of dangerous refuge, ledges and perches where he could simply sit and consider the quiet of the night, waiting for something to happen as it almost always did.

He had purposefully left his phone in the cave, hoping that its absence would somehow remove Clark from his focus.

It wasn’t working.

Bruce looked out over the city skyline and across the bay, trying to decide how long it would take him to get to Clark’s apartment. If he called the Batwing…

_No_ . _Space. Give him space._

It was getting late--if Clark was alright (which he more than likely was), and happened to already be asleep, he surely wouldn’t appreciate a surprise visit from the bat, especially given that Bruce didn’t know his reaction yet. The more time passed, the more Bruce regretted his earlier decision.

He was about to call it quits almost as soon as he had started, when a familiar glow appeared in the clouds to his right. 

With a final glance over to Metropolis, Bruce reached to the right side of his belt and aimed his grapple gun into the darkness.

He took a deep breath and let himself fall off the side of the building.

_Gotham needs you. Clark is fine._

**NINE: 10:59 PM**

_What if Clark isn’t fine? Shit, Clark_ **_is not_ ** _fine, and I’m here fighting thugs._

Bruce’s mind was racing as he threw less-than-skillful punches at a group of Falcone’s men.

Gordon had turned on the signal to request Batman’s presence at a raid; a few million dollars worth of hard drugs had supposedly been shipped into the harbour. Several squads of inept goonies had been deemed responsible for receiving it as discreetly as possible, but had obviously failed.

“Someone on the inside tipped us off,” Gordon had said. “And if they hadn’t, this shit would have sailed in right over our heads.”

A particularly nasty hit to the gut brought Bruce back into the moment. He forced himself to focus, realizing that if he didn’t shelve his concerns for Clark, he might not make it through the fight. 

_And Batman always makes it through the fight_.

**TEN: 11:32 PM**

He had finished the final brute off with a well-timed uppercut, lingering on scene only long enough to ensure that Jim and his squad had secured the material. He didn’t know the time, but figured it had to be close to three in the morning.

He looked down at his disheveled uniform, holes torn in his gloves and cape, exposing bloodied knuckles and producing a sigh of frustration.

Slowly, he made his way across Gotham and toward the manor.

_I need to check my phone._

**ELEVEN: 12:49 AM**

Bruce vaulted out of the Batmobile, landing nimbly on the cold concrete floor of the cave.

Alfred approached him almost immediately, accepting the cape and cowl as soon as he had pulled them over his head. Bruce rubbed at his eyes, heavy with fatigue.

“I didn’t expect you to be awake, Alfred,” Bruce said, walking past his butler and toward the computer bay. “I’ll fill you in in a minute, but I need to check something first.”

His phone was on the control panel, exactly where he had left it. His heart sank when he realized he _still_ hadn’t heard from Clark, slamming the phone back on the metal surface. The clanging sound echoed through the cave.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred called, approaching him from behind. Bruce sighed and sank into the chair in front of the console, signing in and immediately pulling up a blank report.

“Falcone had a shipment of narcotics sent into the harbour. Someone tipped Jim off, but he needed assistance. I stayed until I knew it was over.”

The sound of the keyboard clicking filled the space between him and his butler.

“Yes, Master Bruce, I heard. But I am, admittedly, more curious as to what else is bothering you.”

Bruce stopped typing very briefly, cocking his head and returning to his report.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Master Bruce, I’ve known you your entire life, and as much as you like to pretend that you don’t have feelings, you most certainly do, and I know when something is off. So, please, spare me the theatrics and just tell me what it is that’s on your mind.”

Bruce stopped typing completely and spun gently around in his chair.

“I haven’t heard from Clark since two o’clock.”

Alfred smiled softly.

“Perhaps, Master Bruce, he is simply busy?”

“I know, Alfred. I’ve been telling myself that all night. But...it’s not like Clark to not answer his messages. I’ve left him voicemails. Texted him. And I just...can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.”

He rubbed his eyes again, exasperated with himself and with the situation. 

“I almost checked on him before I came home, and then I almost called the Batwing while I was on patrol...but Diana and I had a whole conversation about privacy...”

“And you’re concerned that you’ll be intruding on his?”

Bruce nodded.

“Especially because…”

He bit his tongue, stopping himself from revealing too much, then continued.

“I know it’s childish, and he’s _Superman_ for fuck’s sake, but...like I said, I just can’t shake the feeling.”

“He’s your best friend, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, raising an eyebrow in his direction as if insinuating there was maybe more to say. “It’s only natural that you should be anxious for his safety.”

Bruce turned his chair around and continued typing, ignoring Alfred’s insinuation completely and actively refraining from including any more detail. He had caught himself. He wasn’t about to give it away now.

“I’ll check on him in the morning, if I haven’t heard from him by then.”

“A wise decision, Master Bruce,” Alfred concurred, sighing slightly. “Now, if you do not wish to discuss the matter any further, I do believe I will retreat to my personal quarters for the remainder of the night.”

Bruce bade him good night.

_I’ll check on him in the morning_.

**TWELVE: 1:34 AM**

Bruce adjusted the pillow beneath his head and willed himself not to check his phone.

_I’ll check on him in the morning_.

**THIRTEEN: 2:53 AM**

He woke with a start, bolting upright and panting rapidly. He slammed his fist into the mattress in frustration.

_Why the fuck do I even care so much?_

Bruce ran a hand over his sweaty forehead, taking a few deep breaths and eventually settling back down into the bed. He sighed as he rolled over.

_You know why you care so much, dumbass. Just check on him in the morning_.

**FOURTEEN: 3:11 AM**

A siren in the distance pulled Bruce from his half-sleep.

_I’ll check on him in the morning_.

**FIFTEEN: 4:32 AM**

_Zzzzz. Zzzzz. Zzzzz._

**SIXTEEN: 5:19 AM**

_Zzzzz. Zzzzz. Zzzzz._

**SEVENTEEN: 6:47 AM**

Bruce could hear Tim and Alfred shuffling about on the floor below, his butler surely in a heated verbal battle with the boy about the importance of his education. Sometimes Bruce felt guilty for putting all of it on Alfred. He was grateful for his guardian’s patience.

He stared at his phone, contemplating.

_No. It’s not late enough yet._

**EIGHTEEN: 7:25 AM**

Bruce rolled over and grabbed at the phone on his bedside table in defeat. 

Still no message. His heartbeat picked up as he rose to his feet and headed for the shower.

_That’s it, Clark. Fuck your privacy. I’m coming over._

**NINETEEN: 8:49 AM**

Ultimately, Bruce decided it was most appropriate to drop-in on Clark in his civilian clothes, rather than don the Batsuit during the day.

Besides, he had another meeting at Wayne Financial in Metropolis later in the afternoon. He could visit Clark, reassure himself that everything was fine, then make his way over to the tower and get a handle on the paperwork he had neglected the night before.

Alfred had insisted he eat breakfast, which delayed him quite a bit. It was later than he wanted, but he hadn’t been given much choice.

Bruce pulled out of the garage, his heartbeat still slightly elevated but not as dramatically so. He only had to wait another hour before he’d know.

_Please just be there, Clark_ , _and be okay. Please._

**TWENTY: 9:42 AM**

_Knock-knock-knock_.

Bruce’s cracked and bruised knuckles stung sharply as he rapped on the door of Clark’s apartment. He waited, but was greeted by silence.

_Knock-knock-knock_.

He cursed to himself as one of the cracks began leaking blood, sucking it immediately into his mouth and listening again.

The silence was broken by the sound of blood pounding in his ears. Bruce shook his head at his own anxiety, glancing at his watch.

He kicked himself, scowling as he stormed away from Clark’s door.

_What the hell is wrong with me? It’s already after 9:30. He’ll be at the Planet_.

**TWENTY-ONE: 10:08 AM**

Bruce’s outward demeanor could not have been further from demonstrative of his inner turmoil. He didn’t necessarily want to draw attention to the fact that he was looking for Clark specifically, so he feigned a visit to the editor-in-chief.

Despite his brash approach to supervising his employees, Perry White quite enjoyed a good long conversation, especially when it took up company time.

Bruce found himself sprawled in a chair across from Perry, trying to appear calm and relaxed while simultaneously listening to the foot traffic just outside of the office. He could hear a mixture of voices, but all of them seemed to be coming from the photography department. 

Investigative journalists were all allocated desks in one area of the floor--unfortunately, that area was on the opposite wall to Perry’s office. 

_I just have to grin and bear it, then I can check on Clark._

**TWENTY-TWO: 11:03 AM**

When Perry finally released Bruce from the confines of their casual conversation, he straightened his tie and made his way across the room. 

Walking through the cubicles of the Daily Planet was never something Bruce enjoyed--an interview with a handsome, mysterious, billionaire, celebrity philanthropist _screamed_ front page news, or at the very least, well-read gossip column. A sea of press-personnel was the last place Bruce wanted to go swimming, but here he was, wading through it all.

After brushing off several awkward conversation starters, he finally made his way to the back corner of the floor. He turned and began walking toward where he knew Clark’s desk was. 

Before he made it, he stumbled into Lois who was carrying a bankers box of what looked like MPD evidence. Bruce glanced at the box hesitantly, and she blushed, setting it down on the floor. They shook hands, making sure to keep up with appearances.

“Bruce Wayne! What are you doing here?”

“Miss Lane,” Bruce nodded, cordially, but getting straight to the point. “I was actually hoping to speak with Mr. Kent. Is he here today?

Lois shook her head.

“Is there something I can help you with instead? Why don’t we head downstairs and grab a cup of coffee?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, and Lois returned it, confirming that she had something she wanted to tell him.

Once they were safely in the stairwell, they paused. Lois’ voice was barely a whisper.

“He didn’t come in at all this morning, and Perry was pissed. Apparently he didn’t call, or anything, and he was supposed to cover the City Council banquet last night, but Perry’s got a friend who was there and apparently Clark _wasn’t_.”

Bruce frowned.

“What time was the banquet?”

“Um...I think around eight? I can verify with Perry if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. Knowing he didn’t attend something last _night_ is what’s important.”

Lois nodded.

“Yeah. The last I heard from him was two-thirty yesterday afternoon--Perry was in a mood, and dismissed us all early. We walked out together and were going to walk home too, but he heard something. Said that someone needed help on the other side of the city in some old building.”

Bruce’s mind was racing. The last that Clark had been heard from was the previous afternoon, which meant that in the eyes of the police, he wouldn’t yet be a missing person. Not that the police could help them _all_ that much, but extra eyes and investigators were never a hindrance.

“Did he say where?” Bruce asked, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t hear from him last night and I called him a few times. It’s so unlike him to just disappear like this.”

“I know,” Lois said. “It’s annoying, but Smallville is dedicated to this job. I’ve never even seen him take a sick day, much less pick up and leave without a word of warning. Let me think, though. I want to say it was some abandoned lab building...but it wasn’t Star’s old facility. Started with an I, maybe?”

“Ivo,” Bruce said. “They used to be over on Patton Street, near the docks.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Lois said. “He definitely said Ivo, cause it reminded me of that red-headed bitch you always have to fight.”

“Thank you, Lois,” Bruce said, ignoring her commentary and immediately starting down the stairs.

“What was so important anyway?” She called after him. He pretended he didn’t hear. “Make sure he’s alright, Bruce!”

_Don’t worry, I will._

**TWENTY-THREE: 12:10 PM**

“Alfred,” Bruce said, as soon as the butler had answered the phone. Bruce had walked several blocks from the Daily Planet building, and was waiting at the base of one of the city’s tallest buildings. “I need you to send the suit to Metropolis.”

Alfred cleared his throat. 

“Sir, you have a meeting in just over an hour. Are you sure you have time?”

“Cancel it,” Bruce said, firmly. “Alfred, I was right. Superman is missing.”

He was met with silence on the other end, for a moment or two.

“My goodness...Atop Wayne Financial, I assume?”

“LexCorp Tower, please. Lex can have the press associated with its arrival. And make that as soon as possible, Alfred. It’ll be a one way trip for the Batwing.”

“It's already on its way, sir. I will call Mr. Fox as well. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

He was about to press the button on his ear piece.

“Oh, and sir? Do be careful. Whomever has taken Master Clark...well, they must be a force to be reckoned with.”

_To whoever took Clark..._ I’ll _be the force to be reckoned with._


	2. Chapter 2

**TWENTY-FOUR: 1:14 PM**

After the Batwing had landed, unauthorized, on Luthor’s helipad, Bruce had made quick work of getting it into the air again.

He had found his suit in a pod just behind the seat, dressing swiftly, then shifting and clicking his armour into place as he flew. The Batwing moved easily on autopilot, and within minutes had carried him to the other side of Metropolis.

He had then ejected himself from the seat, gliding down to the top of the old lab and watching as the Batwing flew back towards Gotham. He had programmed it to land in the abandoned lot of what was once Wayne Aerospace, but now served as a rendezvous point and safehouse for him and his heroic companions.

He’d call it back when he was finished.

Bruce dropped carefully onto a lower rooftop, vigilantly keeping watch on the surrounding streets and businesses. Admittedly, the district had been mostly abandoned, so hardly anyone was around. 

This was beneficial--Bruce assumed he would have to hack into the lab’s security in order to get in, which could take some time. The building had been abandoned as a laboratory, but Ivo still owned it, and most likely stored excess supplies and equipment in its warehouse.

One more drop placed him directly next to the building, and he ducked down behind a large, green metal box, which contained what Bruce guessed was a generator of some sort. He examined it from where he was, and noticed an area near the top where the metal had seemingly melted--a singed and blackened area of structural weakness.

Curious, Bruce surveyed his surroundings and rose to his feet, remaining as crouched as possible as he pulled at the flimsy metal. A large chunk of it cracked off as if he had been pulling at styrofoam, revealing an array of blackened hardware within it.

Bruce frowned under the cowl, scraping his thumb across the surface of what appeared to be an old screen of sorts, and rubbing the residue between his gloved fingers. He retrieved a small vial from his belt, scraping some of the residue into the bottom and tucking it safely away again.

He assumed it had simply been burned, by a fire, maybe, or some sort of malfunction, but could never be too safe. Any clue that could get him to Clark was a clue he was going to analyze.

Realizing that behind the facility was an entirely empty parking lot hidden nicely by a tall, concrete wall, Bruce made his way to the back of the building, looking for potential points of entry. He found none, save for a single doored entrance that appeared to be guarded by security measures, as he had assumed.

Unexpectedly, however, a closer inspection of the scanner by the door revealed that it, too, had somehow been fried. The screen reduced to a flickering green light. Batman didn’t hold his breath, but grabbed the handle of the door and pulled.

It opened. Just like that.

“Alfred,” he said, into his earpiece as he made his way through the first floor of the building. “Activate detective vision in the cowl.”

Alfred didn’t bother responding, but Bruce knew he had heard him when his vision turned an odd shade of blue-grey moments later.

He set to work scouring the building for any sign of a struggle.

_ Or, ideally, Clark himself. _

**TWENTY-FIVE: 2:44 PM**

As two in the afternoon came and went, signaling the passage of more than twenty-four hours, Bruce was beginning to feel frustrated.

_ There has to be something here that can help me. Come on, Clark. You must have put up a fight. _

**TWENTY-SIX: 3:57 PM**

From an old storage room on the top floor of the lab, Bruce could hear the Metropolis Clock Tower bell chime four o’clock. He had been looking for evidence for almost two full hours at that point, and even with his cowl’s enhanced analytic settings, he hadn’t been able to find anything.

It didn’t help that the whole building had seemingly been short-circuited. He couldn’t turn any lights on, or check to see if security cameras had been working when Clark had arrived. 

He clicked his ear piece, and called Lois.

“Bruce?” she asked, sounding worried. “Did you find him?”

“Not yet. Lois, are you sure it was Ivo labs?”

“Yes. I’m positive. Ivo sounds like Ivy, so it has to be the one. And I’m certain that Clark said it was the old building, not the new one. Does this mean you haven’t found  _ anything _ ?”

Bruce sighed.

“Nothing, but I’ll keep looking.”

He hung up without saying goodbye, tapping his earpiece twice to switch his signal to the Justice League’s private channel.

“Batman to all units,” he growled. “I require back up in Metropolis, at the old Ivo Lab. Superman is missing. I repeat,  _ all units _ required at the old Ivo Lab in Metropolis. Superman is missing.”

_ I was hoping I wouldn’t have to call, but I don’t think I have a choice. _

**TWENTY-SEVEN: 4:39 PM**

It had been nearly an hour before everyone in the league had arrived, each member joining in the search as soon as they could. J’onn had remained at the watchtower, focusing on attempting to forge a psychological connection with Clark to find his location.

He hadn’t yet been successful.

It would have been easier had they known what exactly it was they were looking for, but Bruce really didn’t. He was only hoping that Clark  _ had  _ put up some sort of a fight, and that whoever had done this to him hadn’t outsmarted him. Hadn’t had Kryptonite.

“Literally anything suspicious,” Bruce said, keeping his voice steady. “A single piece of equipment that looks out of place, a scratch in a door somewhere, a stain on the carpet or something! There has to be something!”

_ There has to be something _ .

**TWENTY-EIGHT: 5:12 PM**

“Hey, Bats?” Came a voice over the commlink. Bruce’s ears perked up, hopeful that Wally had found something substantial. “I know the whole building seems to have shorted out, but you might want to take a closer look at this. I’m on the third floor. ”

Bruce took off, jogging down the stairs and emerging right where Wally was standing. The younger man pointed to an electrical panel on the wall. Bruce frowned. The other panels had been fried, certainly, but this one appeared as if it had been the primary target. All around it, the wall was charred a deep black, significant cracks and dents cascading from the panel like veins. Mixed with the burnt black plaster were shades of red, reminiscent of blood, but more vivid. They looked dry to the touch, and yet were changing colour, morphing between shades and radiating very dim light.

Bruce pulled a wedge from his pocket, and turned to Wally.

“Stand back, Flash,” he instructed. “I’m going to open it.”

Sparks flew all around him when he pried the cover off the panel, stepping backwards as it clanked to the floor. The inside of the panel looked  _ plenty _ different from the others, but Bruce wanted to be sure this was the only one worth examining.

“Flash. I need you to run through all of the floors in the building. Check the panels for signs of red charring, like this one.”

Bruce barely had time to glance at the inside of the panel when Wally had returned.

“Just this one,” he said. Bruce turned his head away, pondering the implications of this, when he heard movement behind him. 

“Wally, don’t!” He yelled, but it was too late. The younger hero pressed a glove finger against the cooked wiring in the panel, and Bruce braced himself for some sort of explosion. But it never came. He opened his eyes to find Wally in perfect condition, save for waves of shudders travelling through his body.

“That stuff…” he shivered. “Don’t...touch it. It’s…it’s... _ evil _ .”

Bruce shot Wally a sideways glance, as if silently asking him what the  _ hell _ he was talking about.

Before Bruce could actually say anything, Diana, John, and Shayera appeared in the hall as well.

“What happened here?” Shayera asked, looking between Bruce, Wally, and the panel. “What’s with the electrical work in this building? It’s like the whole thing was struck by lightning or something.”

Bruce nodded, stared back at the panel and then glanced at Wally.

“Struck by lightning from the inside,” he said. Surprisingly, Wally seemed to follow his train of thought.

“By a speedster,” he said, finishing Bruce’s thought. “A speedster who uses the negative speed force. An evil speedster.”

“But can a speedster generate enough electricity to a-do that much damage to one panel, and b-to fry the circuitry on a building this large?” Diana asked. Flash began to nod.

“Yes, but only one way. Someone’s used the speed force, here, most likely to open a portal.”

Shayera’s eyes widened as Bruce processed this information. 

“A portal where?” she asked. Bruce rubbed his chin and sighed loudly.

“A portal to another Earth.”

_ You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. _

**TWENTY-NINE: 6:19 PM**

The league had barely had a chance to digest this information before they received a call from J’onn. He was still unable to locate Clark, but Felix Faust had decided to make an appearance in Star City and the Justice League needed to attend.

Bruce had been torn between his duty to the public and his desire to find Clark as fast as possible, so he refrained from joining the fight. He had fully intended on sacrificing the assistance of everyone else, but Wally had insisted he stay with Bruce.

“Nobody knows the speed force like I do, Bats,” he had said. Much to Bruce’s chagrin, he had been right.

So, the two of them had made their way over to the Batcave. Bruce was at the computer, scrolling through past missions where a speedster villain had been involved. While he worked, Wally, Dick, and Tim discussed possible motives for taking Clark over a few pizzas Alfred had brought down.

“It honestly doesn’t make sense to me though,” Dick was saying. “If a speedster was going to take any member of the league, why wouldn’t they take you?”

“I don’t know. It makes no sense to me either. And to travel to another Earth? It’s exhausting, man. Like you have no idea how much energy it takes. I usually have to wait a day or two to recover.” 

Bruce turned around right as Tim frowned and spoke, his son beating him to the punch.

“If it takes you awhile to recover, how long do you think they’ve been here? Whoever they are?”

Bruce stood and walked over to where they were chatting.

“I realized that as well, Tim,” Bruce said. “So whoever it was is from our Earth originally.”

Wally nodded, shoving a rather large bite of pizza into his mouth and grabbing two more slices to go.

“Honestly, Bats,” he mumbled, mouth full. Bruce looked annoyed. “I think it’s worth us going back to Ivo to look around some more. We might have missed something.”

And much to Bruce’s chagrin, once again, Wally was right.

_ I will find you Clark. I promise, I will find you. _

**THIRTY: 7:21 PM**

After another half hour of combing the hallway, Bruce finally came across something suspicious. 

Just up the hall from the panel, on a seemingly random shelf that rested about knee height, there was a very small, perfectly rhombic crystal, pinkish red in colour and about the size of Bruce’s fingernail. He showed it to Wally.

“It appears to be a ruby,” Bruce said. “I don’t know if it has any significance, but I’ll take it back to the cave to analyze, just in case. Have you found anything?”

“Yeah,” Wally replied. “I think. There’s a huge wet patch in the plaster up the hall the other way. It’s fresh, so I phased into the wall...there are no leaky pipes, and nothing spilled above it.”

Bruce followed the young hero down the hall and saw exactly what Wally had meant. There was a large wet patch in the plaster that ran in streaks down to the floor. Bruce touched it cautiously.

“It looks like something melted,” he said, quietly. He clicked the switch on his commlink. “Alfred? Turn on detective vision, please.”

With a much more critical eye, Bruce reexamined the wet patch.

“It’s just water,” he said, touching it again and slowly running his hand across the wall. His glove picked up a single hair, which he quickly put into a baggie and continued looking. Near the floor, spattered slightly up the wall in miniscule drops, Bruce’s cowl picked up a trace of blood. He cautiously extracted a small piece of the softened plaster, inserting it, too, into a small baggie to take to the cave. He stepped back. “I think that Clark used his breath to defend himself. Whoever took him was attacking him, and it appears he froze them to the wall. Somehow, they still managed to get him away.”

“Maybe this isn’t just one guy,” Wally suggested. “Do you think that’s enough? Or should we keep looking?”

“I’ll look at this for now. Run down to Star City, make sure that they have everything handled.”

Wally nodded, and in a flash, he was gone.

_ Please be something, here. Please tell me we’ve found something. _

**THIRTY-ONE: 8:14 PM**

Bruce got back to the cave in as little time as possible, and was unimpressed to find that Dick and Tim had not yet left for patrol.

“Just because Superman is missing, doesn’t mean that Gotham needs to suffer.”

They had ignored him, for the most part, saying they had plans to leave for a late patrol at ten o’clock. Normally, Bruce might have forbade Tim from staying out that late, but he was too intent on finding Clark and realized that Tim and Dick could be useful for the time being.

He passed the crystal off to Dick, and the two of them accompanied him to the lab to run some tests on their respective materials. 

Bruce started with the blood, figuring that it would be a more solid point of reference for DNA marking. He ran several different tests on it, referencing every known DNA database in the world in an attempt to find a match. He grew increasingly frustrated when his search yielded no results.

Eventually he moved on to the hair, running it against the same databases and, again, yielding no results at all. He resolved to run the two samples against each other, and found that they did indeed match each other, but just apparently did not belong to anyone on Earth.

Then Bruce clued in. 

_What if it doesn’t belong to someone on_ ** _this_** _Earth? Or on Earth at all? What if whoever took Clark came here specifically to take him?_

**THIRTY-TWO: 9:51 PM**

Dick and Tim prepared for patrol as Bruce reran every test they had conducted on the ruby.

They hadn’t yielded any results either, and Bruce was feeling incredibly furious with the universe, and with himself. There was the possibility that the stone was alien, as with the blood and hair. The difference was, there was a possibility that one of his alien ‘coworkers’ might actually be able to identify the stone.

“Keep your comms on,” he barked, scooping up the stone and heading over to the Batmobile. It was night now--he was less concerned about being seen, but still did not want to take the Batwing. The car would at least be much faster than a glider or grapnel.

_ I’m hoping I don’t need your help _ .

**THIRTY-THREE: 10:10 PM**

The league had returned from Star City by the time Bruce got to the watchtower. He saw immediately that J’onn was still trying to manifest a psychological connection to Clark, and felt incredibly grateful. He made a mental note to thank him expressly for his vigilance later, but shook him out of the stupor to look at the rock.

“I’ve never seen such a stone before, Batman. I apologize that I cannot be of more assistance.”

“No, J’onn. You’re doing plenty. Keep trying.” Bruce walked over to the common room where he found the remainder of the league, save for Wally.

He set the stone down in front of Shayera and John.

“It’s not from Earth,” he said. “Do either of you recognize it? I ran all of the tests I could and got nothing.”

“I don’t recognize it,” Shayera shook her head. Apparently Batman’s frustration was visible beneath the cowl because she quickly back-pedaled: “But I’ll take a closer look.”

Diana walked up and grabbed the rock, holding it close to her face and examining it carefully.

“Don’t bother,” she said, smiling softly. “You don’t recognize it because it isn’t alien. It belonged to Pandora, the first woman. It is a piece of her box.”

Bruce stared at Diana, mulling over this piece of information. Diana continued.

“Pandora’s Box is a magical artifact. It contains dark and mysterious powers, one of which is to open doors to other realms.”

“Of course,” Wally said, walking into the room holding a sandwich and a cup of coffee. “Not only is Superman kidnapped, but it’s by someone in another dimension.”

Bruce growled. “What the fuck would someone from another Earth want with Superman?”

Diana looked thoughtful. “Pandora’s box can only be used by beings from Pandora’s world.  _ Someone from our Earth brought Superman’s kidnapper here _ . But I am puzzled, because the box self-destructs once it’s been used. Hence the detached crystal. Whoever was brought here had to find their own way back.”

“So, whoever it is, they aren’t working alone,” Wally concluded, staring down at the table. “Someone brought them here, and a speedster took them home.”

“That’s why the scorch marks are red,” Bruce added. “It’s a speedster who accesses the negative speed force, like Thawne or Zoom. The lightning they produce is red.”

Wally nodded.

“So Superman is on another Earth.” J’onn said, suddenly entering the room. “And, whoever took him could have transported him to any parallel world. Our best bet right now is trying to find out who might have helped them. They would know what happened to Superman, and where we can find him.”

Bruce slammed his fist against the table, and headed for the door.

“Rest up,” he commanded. “We’re going to find Superman. Tonight.”

_ Right now, I have a narcissistic billionaire to interrogate. _

**THIRTY-FOUR: 11:22 PM**

Bruce called Nightwing and Robin to rendezvous with him at LexCorp tower as soon as he left the tower, instructing Nightwing to fly the Batwing. It was getting too late for him to care about being spotted in Metropolis anymore--Clark had been gone for thirty four hours and Bruce didn’t really want to think about what condition he might be in. He needed to find him, and he wanted back up. A classic intimidation tactic.

About an hour after he left the watchtower, Batman smashed through the window of Lex Luthor’s ritzy penthouse apartment, his sons right on his heels. He lunged for the barely conscious billionaire, wasting no time in pinning him against the wall with a hand around his neck.

“ _ What have you fucking done, you piece of shit!”  _ Bruce snarled, literally baring his teeth at the frightened man in his hand.  _ “Where...is...Superman?!” _

Adding fuel to the fire within Bruce, Lex relaxed, and just smiled. 

“Good evening, Batman,” he sneered. “This is no way to greet a man of my stature, might I add.”

_ “You may not add anything, if you ever want to use your vocal chords again!” _

Dick stepped forward behind Bruce, but the older man put a hand up. When he had stopped, Batman grabbed a batarang from his belt and held it next to Luthor’s right ear.

“ _ Who did you call, Luthor? Who did you hire to get rid of him?” _

Lex chuckled deviously, but his laugh did not entirely hide his frightened glance toward his ear. Bruce noticed it, and prompted by Lex’s silence, dug the point through the back of his ear lobe. The billionaire cried out in pain.

“ _ Talk, dipshit, or I’ll give you more than an unwanted piercing!”  _ Bruce snarled, tightening his grip on Lex’s neck. “ _ Who did you hire?!” _

Lex tried to speak but choked, and Bruce loosened his grip just enough to hear him say:

“Who took him?  _ Who _ , indeed.”

Bruce released Lex’s neck and lowered him to the ground, half-turning away before changing his mind and sending a well aimed elbow to his shoulder. Lex cried out in pain as it dislocated, but Bruce ignored him. He stepped to the shattered window without saying a word to Lex, shot his grapple, and jumped.

Moments later, realizing he had left his sons in the penthouse, he clicked on his commlink.

“Take Robin home, Nightwing,” he said. “The Batmobile is where I left it. Drive carefully. I’ll be taking the ‘wing. Both of you are dismissed for the night.”

He switched lines.

“I know where Superman is. Meet me at Ivo in one hour.”

He switched lines again, directly calling Wally.

“Flash, I need you to come with me now. Zeta to the hall, and I’ll meet you there.”

_ Okay, Clark. This is it. _

**THIRTY-FIVE: 12:37 AM**

Bruce found Wally right where he had asked him to be, only slightly rolling his eyes at the younger hero’s excitement to be riding in the famous Batwing.

“We are going to see Dr. Fate,” Bruce said as he got in. “I paid Lex Luthor a visit. He was the one who organized Superman’s disappearance.”

“Of course.”

“It was the Crime Syndicate,” Bruce continued. “From Earth-3.”

“Wait, Luthor just straight up told you his plan?” Wally asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not exactly,” Bruce smirked. “I can be very persuasive. And he didn’t tell me, so much as give me an obvious clue.”

“Which was?”

“ _ Who  _ indeed.” 

Wally stared blankly at Bruce.

“ _ Hoo _ , as in an owl.”

It clicked.

“Owlman!” Wally exclaimed. “Jeez, Bats. How did you even catch that?”

Bruce looked solemn. “As much as I hate to admit it, Luthor and I think somewhat alike.”

“So we need...Dr. Fate? Why?”

“You said it yourself, speedsters can’t open portals in rapid succession. Fate can get us there. Can you get us home?”

Wally nodded, nervously. “I haven’t done it in a while, if I’m being honest, but for Supes? I’ll manage.”

Bruce nodded in return, turning his attention to flying the plane.

_ I’m sure you will. _

**THIRTY-SIX: 1:21 AM**

The conversation between Batman and Dr. Fate was ten times shorter than the flight to his tower, perhaps partially because of the early hour.

“I will get you there, on the condition that you ask me to go no further.”

That had been enough for Bruce, and the three of them were on route back to Ivo within twenty minutes.

_ Almost there, Clark. Please hold on. _

**THIRTY-SEVEN: 2:38 AM**

The portal was strange to look into--it almost hurt Bruce’s eyes.  _ Almost _ .

The league collectively was a bundle of nerves as they stood in the hall by the fried circuit panel, Dr. Fate holding a hand out intently as he whispered incantations.

Suddenly, the hall was filled with a bright purple light, and a shifting vortex had appeared before them.

Bruce did not hesitate, and was the first to step through knowing his teammates were behind him.

_ Please hold on _ .

**THIRTY-EIGHT: 3:04 AM**

Ivo Labs on Earth-3 looked a hell of a lot like their own, so much so that Bruce felt disoriented as he stepped out of the portal, fearing for a moment that nothing had changed.

He turned around immediately, observing the remaining members of the league as they each made their way through and took in their surroundings.

He didn’t even need to ask J’onn. The martian’s hands were at his temples as soon as he had stepped away from the portal, focusing on trying to establish a connection with Clark.

“Superman is here,” he said, after a few minutes. “He is weak, and he is far away, but he is here and alive. I managed to get a picture of his line of vision, though I fear I do not recognize it.”

Bruce stood still as an image flashed through his brain. His heart jolted at the realization that he didn’t recognize it either, and so was relieved to hear John speak up.

“That’s the U.S. Marine Corps base in Tonawanda. That’s where I was stationed, but it looks like it’s abandoned here. They’ve locked Superman in one of the firing ranges. It’s all bulletproof glass.”

A few minutes later, they were soaring over Earth-3’s Metropolis in a green bubble, lacking any other mode of transportation. It was slow going, but Bruce felt somewhat reassured that at least they were now on the same Earth as Clark.

_ We need to get there faster. Hold on. _

**THIRTY-NINE: 4:14 AM**

John’s familiarity with the base proved to be incredibly helpful, especially given their sleep-deprived states. They arrived just outside of the building shortly after four in the morning, the bubble lowering them right to the ground before dissipating around them. 

John led them toward a door near the back of the building, where they all waited patiently for Bruce to override its security and unlock the entrance.

Once they had, it became a matter of investigating the halls until they came across Clark’s makeshift prison cell.

Wally had wanted to run, but they couldn’t guarantee there would be no more security points that Bruce needed to hack into. They couldn’t risk alerting the Syndicate of their presence before they located Clark. 

It took over an hour, altogether, but finally-- _ finally _ \--the league laid eyes on him. He was laying on his side on the floor, a chain around his ankle and a green haze filling the room. Bruce stepped forward, making to run toward the glass and sail right through it, but stopped almost immediately after he started. 

Red lights were blaring around them, sound-tracked by an obnoxiously loud alarm. He had unknowingly announced their presence, just as he had feared Wally would.

A low growl escaped his throat as he reached for his weapons. From around the corner, he could see a dark green glow, a few flashes of red lightning, and the black of feathered armor.

The Crime Syndicate stepped out, ready for battle. Bruce roared as he lunged forward, his comrades following suit.

_ Bring it the fuck on. _

**FORTY: 5:27 AM**

The fight went on for a while.

Unfortunately for them, fighting the Crime Syndicate meant fighting enemies that moved like them, thought like them-- could anticipate their next move because it was the same as their own. In other words, it was an even match, and neither side had any plan to concede.

Owlman was the first to go down.

Bruce had never moved quite like he did against him. His hits were calculated, as per usual, but seemed to pack more punch than they ever had before. He was sweating, snarling, snapping at the enemy in front of him who had  _ dared _ to come in and take Clark away from him. 

Insults flew from his mouth, as opposed to his usual stoic silence during a fight. He roared as he hit his counterpart, moving more quickly and efficiently than ever before, and he couldn’t help but think to himself:

_ Maybe Clark ought to be kidnapped more often _ .

One glance at the glass panel Shayera was trying desperately to break made him regret the thought, knowing that Clark was lying helpless and in pain on the other side. The image only made him fight harder.

When he had taken Owlman down--knocked him completely unconscious and strung him up by his feet like a goddamn bat-- Bruce looked around, observing everyone’s individual fight.

Wally appeared to have the upperhand on Quick-- the latter likely hadn’t fully recovered from their journey home. Bruce noted that he was putting up a substantial fight, but trusted that Wally would eventually overcome him.

Diana and Superwoman were matched  _ very  _ evenly, but Diana’s stamina would undoubtedly trump her counterpart eventually. Wonder Woman did a lot more fighting than Superwoman ever did, and it would come through.

The lanterns were fairly evenly matched as well, but Bruce knew that the more the Syndicate showed signs of failure, the weaker Power Ring would become. He would start to feel afraid, and fear was the enemy of will. John’s confidence would only grow, and he would take him.

With Superman incapacitated, and the Sydnicate’s own martian dead, J’onn was left to face Ultraman. This fight was the one that most thoroughly concerned Bruce. While he had full faith in J’onn’s abilities, he was also aware of Ultraman’s powers. He was tempted to run over and help J’onn himself, but ultimately decided that Shayera’s brute strength and Thanagarian mace would likely be better suited for the job.

He dashed over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder and gesturing to Owlman. “He’s out. After we break this glass, go fight with J’onn. I’ll help Clark.”

He roared again as he charged forward, jumping shoulder first into the thick glass. 

_ We’re here Clark. I’m coming. _

**FORTY-ONE: 6:32 AM**

Somehow--Bruce didn’t quite know and neither did Hawkgirl--but somehow, the glass finally cracked under his shoulder. He nodded at Shayera, who stepped back a few feet and charged forward, her battle cry echoing across the room as her mace slammed into the glass directly above the crack.

The glass scattered around them, Bruce haphazardly throwing his arms up to protect his exposed face. He stepped into the room, but stopped when Shayera began to follow.

“No, I’ve got him. Please. Go back and help the others with Ultraman!” he yelled. 

Clark was laying on the floor on the opposite side of the room, drenched in sweat and panting in pain. His face was pressed into the cold concrete, hands laid flat on either side and his legs curled up and twisted sideways beneath him.

It appeared that they had thrown him in the room, and he hadn’t been able to move.

“Superman!” Bruce yelled, running to his side and kneeling on the floor. His gloves came off, anxious fingers scrabbling at his belt to retrieve the nosepiece he had fashioned, familiar with Ultraman’s techniques. 

Clark made a choking sound, reaching for Bruce’s hand with his own trembling one as he approached his nose. He allowed Bruce to clip the small filter in place before trying to speak.

“B...I…”

“Shh, shh,” Bruce said, softly, touching the side of Clark’s face with gentle hands. “Don’t say anything, Clark. Just breathe through your nose for me, okay? Breathe. Just like that.”

Clark looked him in the eyes as he obeyed, and if Bruce hadn’t been so caught up in their blueness, he might have noticed the tell tale signs that Clark’s health was improving. Residual sweat continued to drip down his cheeks, but it was no longer being rapidly produced. The shaking in his hands had subsided enough that he could adjust himself, pushing up off of his stomach and over onto his back. Bruce helped him as much as possible, his hand lingering on Clark’s chest as he watched his partner breathe.

“Keep breathing. They have aerosol kryptonite here, Clark. You’ve been inhaling it for hours…”

Clark looked sadly up at him, reaching for Bruce’s cheek and caressing it as softly as Bruce had done his.

“Get me...out?” Clark said, weakly. Nevertheless, he pushed himself to a sitting position, wiping at his forehead, and leaning on Bruce.

“I’ll get you to another room, but we have to fight off the remainder of the Syndicate. Then, I promise I’ll be back to properly get you away from here.”

Clark over his shoulder, Bruce pushed to his feet. He was supporting most of Clark’s weight as they walked together, out of the little cell and into the main room. Bruce could see that all of the Syndicate had been taken down save for Ultraman, but could not bring himself to pay much attention to the fight, eyes trained on Clark.

He lowered him to the floor just outside of the larger room. Clark grabbed his wrist as he turned to leave, leaning heavily against the wall.

“Careful,” he said, tiredly. Bruce nodded.

_You too, Clark._ _I can’t lose you._

**FORTY-TWO: 7:13 AM**

Upon his return to the main room, Bruce found that Shayera had been injured. A large tear was bleeding visibly on her left wing, painful enough that she could no longer fight. Bruce approached her and asked her to go and stay with Clark, to make sure he was breathing through his nose. She nodded, likely semi-reluctant to leave while simultaneously thankful for the chance to tend to her injury.

“Stupid Kryptonian,” Ultraman was sneering, pulling sharply on Diana’s lasso as she tried to fight against him. “The very thing that fuels me? Destroys him. Weak. Pathetic.”

He glanced to the chamber where Clark had been held, an unusually prominent rage building in his chest and threatening to escape.

“I wanted him to die,” Ultraman continued. “Such a pity.”

Bruce roared as he launched forward, Batman at his fiercest and ready to cause a lot more pain.

_ Come on, tough guy. Bring it the fuck on. _

**FORTY-THREE: 8:19 AM**

Bruce admittedly, couldn’t add too much to the battle. At this point, everyone but Shayera was fighting Ultraman, and as much as they wanted to see him fall, they were exhausted.

While throwing some painful punches at Ultraman’s unyielding back, Bruce came to the realization that Ultraman had given them his own weakness, in boasting about his strength. Afterall, they didn’t need to kill him, really, or even knock him unconscious. They just needed to hold him off long enough for Wally to get them out of there.

Bruce waited until Ultraman was entirely distracted by John and Diana, sneaking off to the room where Clark had been held.

He had known it was Kryptonite gas as soon as he had seen the green fog, and had anticipated it. So, now all he needed to do was find the source, and a sharp enough piece of the green rock to do some damage.

Bruce followed the trail of the smoke, and kicked through a grate in the wall near the floor. He ducked down, crawling through and feeling deeply grateful that it was large enough to fit him. He shimmied through the ventilation system, following the thick fog until he was able to drop down from a vent in the ceiling and into another room.

He had found exactly what he needed. Some sort of strange machine--it looked like it might have been Apokaliptan tech, but that was a question for another day--was melting down the Green K. Stacks on stacks of it were piled like firewood in front of a wood furnace, waiting to be turned into a gas for Ultraman, or in this case, Superman too, to inhale.

Bruce didn’t care how much of it he destroyed, in all honesty, so he promptly tossed an explosive Batarang at a particularly tall stack. Half of the bars shattered, sending sharp glowing shards raining down in front of him. He stepped forward, selecting a particularly long and menacing looking piece, tucking it into his belt and returning to the vent.

He crawled back to the room where Clark had been held, and started to sneak back out into the fight. He stopped in his tracks, horrified to see that a very weak, very unstable Superman had joined the fight, nosepiece still intact, but barely hanging on. Bruce could see residual Kryptonite gas lingering in the air, and while he condoned the man for his unfaltering bravery, he also wanted to punch him in the face for being so stupid.

He caught John on the shoulder.

“ _ Why the hell is Clark in here?!”  _ He hissed. “ _ Get him out. Wally too, and pick-up Shayera on the way. She’s around the corner. Wait outside the facility. Diana, J’onn and I will join you as soon as possible.” _

Bruce saw John begin to protest and narrowed his eyes, glaring daggers into the Lantern’s face.

_ “I have a plan, but I can only hold Ultraman off for a few minutes. Wally needs to be ready to run us home, so get him ready. And make sure Shayera is okay, and that Clark is  _ **_breathing through his fucking nose_ ** _!” _

John’s mouth closed again and he took off, encasing Clark and Wally in a bubble and flying out of the room.

Bruce looked up, noticing a shiny metal grate right above Ultraman’s head. He snuck back into the cell, climbing back into the vents, this time moving  _ away  _ from the stream of green smoke. 

The vent led him right where he wanted to be, but Ultraman had stepped away.

_ Come on, dipshit. Just a few steps back. _

**FORTY-FOUR: 9:00 AM**

He didn’t have to wait long. It was exactly nine in the morning when the fight came to a brutal end.

Ultraman stepped back, and Bruce pounced, dropping onto his shoulders and driving the shard of Kryptonite deep into his chest. It struck his heart, sending a rapid jolt of far too much power through the man’s muscle and overloading his body, essentially sending him into temporarily debilitating cardiac arrest. 

“GO!” He screamed at J’onn and Diana, who took off running after him toward the exit of the building. Diana suddenly realized they were no longer being stealthy, and grabbed the nape of Bruce’s costume, pulling him up off the ground and flying up to the roof of the facility. She punched through the concrete and into the morning air. They landed on the ground next to Wally, John, Clark, and Shayera, and found themselves being rapidly encased in a glowing green orb. Wally took off running, and before they could even fully understand what was happening, they were being tossed forward into another purple portal.

Bruce didn’t know if Clark even felt it, but as they travelled through space and time, their hands met and held on.

_ I’ve got you, and I’ll be damned if I ever let you go again. _

**FORTY-FIVE: 10:01 AM**

An hour later, the league had returned to the watchtower, each member recuperating in their own way.

Wally had collapsed as soon as they had gotten back to their Earth, as exhausted as expected from the effort of opening the portal. He had, evidently, taken them to the first place that came to mind. Unfortunately, that was in Central City, where they had not yet installed a zeta to the watchtower. 

Despite his own exhaustion, Lantern had willed a glowing jet into existence, piling everyone in and flying them back to Metropolis. They took the zeta from the hall back up to the watchtower. Once there, John had immediately taken Shayera down to the med bay to care for her damaged wing, while Diana carried Wally shortly behind them. 

Clark was nearly unconscious, and still looked paler than Bruce would have liked him to be. He needed to get his oxygen levels up and ensure he spent a good amount of time under the tower’s sunlamps. The real thing would have been better, but both J’onn and John were too exhausted to fly him out into space. The lamps would do--Bruce was sure Clark could use the sleep anyway. 

Before turning to retreat to his own quarters, J’onn rested a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“If you need my assistance in healing Superman, you need only knock on my door,” he said, smiling gently at Bruce. “Although, I do believe you might want to spend some time alone with him.”

Bruce nodded his thanks and pulled Clark up into his arms, wary of his own exhaustion and weakness. He made his way to the solar room, carefully laying Clark down on the cot there, and pulling his cowl off.

He pressed a gentle hand to the side of Clark’s face, pulling off the nosepiece and replacing it with a more substantial oxygen mask. Bruce was fairly certain Clark had no idea what was going on around him, so he did not hesitate in pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

He didn’t know what Clark’s response would be to the text he had sent him earlier. He regretted it all, in a way. He was a coward for confessing like that instead of just telling him, but Bruce had never been great with feelings; he couldn’t really read them in others, but especially not in himself.

For the first time in his life, Bruce knew exactly what he was feeling-- it was crystal clear as he pressed his forehead to Clark’s chest. The steady rise and fall of Clark’s lungs expanding and collapsing, breathing refreshing and healing air into his system made Bruce’s heart soar. 

“You’re safe,” he said, quietly, his eyes drifting shut in exhaustion.

_ You’re safe, and I’m so relieved. Now please...please heal. _

**FORTY-SIX: 11:14 AM**

He woke up just over an hour later, and looked up at the man sleeping beneath him. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the image of Clark.

The colour had returned to his skin. He was no longer sweating profusely, but his cheeks were glowing in the same extraordinary way they always had. His breathing was steady, and Bruce looked down to find that the bruising from the chain on his ankle was nearly gone.

The sun lamps overhead had worked; the solar energy restoring Clark’s cells so much closer to their normal strength in only an hour.

He sighed, this time contentedly, and rested his head back on Clark’s chest.

_ I love you _ .

**THE PRESENT**

Bruce blinked rapidly as he woke up, the feeling of gentle hands rubbing circles on his shoulders pulling him from his slumber.

He didn’t lift his head immediately, instead focusing on the comforting touch he was receiving. It was relaxing, until he realized belatedly that he was laying on Clark.

He sat up.

“Woah,” Clark said, throat hoarse from sleep and inhaling all that Kryptonite. “Sorry, I...I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Bruce sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

“And I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” he mumbled.

Clark sat up too, pulling the oxygen mask off of his face and swinging his legs over the side of the cot. He patted next to him, motioning for Bruce to join him on the softer bed instead of staying seated in the hard plastic chair.

Bruce obliged, heat rising in his cheeks. They needed to talk about the text. While it had been in the back of his mind, saving Clark’s life had become much more pressing than getting a response. He silently hoped that Clark wouldn’t bring it up right away, but that hope very quickly went out the window.

“I got your text,” Clark said, staring down at his lap. “Before I flew to Ivo. I was walking out of the Planet typing a response, but I didn’t get the chance to finish it.”

“It’s fine, Clark,” Bruce said, rubbing his hands together awkwardly. “Nothing has to change. I’m just… I’m so grateful that you’re alive.”

“Me too,” Clark sighed, and that was that. For a few moments, Bruce thought he had understood Clark’s sentiment. A rejection, but an indirect one. He could accept that.

“I knew you’d come,” Clark said quietly. “I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t terrified-- I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so vulnerable in my life…”

Bruce swallowed. Clark chuckled.

“Except for maybe now.”

He turned toward Bruce, raising a hand and pressing it against his cheek like Bruce had done hours earlier. Then, he leaned forward and connected their mouths, a soft, tender kiss full of unspoken confessions, promises, and hopes for the future. Bruce kissed back, his heart pounding and light as the tension disappeared from his shoulders.

They separated eventually, panting a little through soft smiles.

“I’ve always loved you,” Clark breathed, chills cascading down Bruce’s spine. “For so long now, I don’t even really remember what it felt like not to.”

Bruce touched their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” he murmured. His eyes closed, and he relished the close contact.

“To save me?” Clark asked.

“To love you,” Bruce replied.

Clark smiled softly.

“My silly Bats,” he teased. “To me? They’re the same damn thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. I love hearing from you, and any feedback is helpful. :)
> 
> Thanks again!
> 
> -Laynee


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